


5 Ways To Tell If The Person You're Dating Is The One

by SugarHighs



Series: you are the cause of my euphoria [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Author takes a break from clowning Atsumu to clown Sakusa instead, Fluff and Crack, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Olympics, Post-Time Skip, jk I clowned them both, rated t for my potty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarHighs/pseuds/SugarHighs
Summary: Maybe he’s a little nervous, but no one has ever accused Kiyoomi of being unprepared. He clears his throat.“My parents always told me to follow my dreams,” Kiyoomi blurts out.Wait. How does the joke go again? Screw Cosmopolitan and their Ten Amazing Pick-up Lines Guaranteed to Wow Your Date-“So can I follow ya home?” Atsumu doesn’t even miss a beat.They stare at each other for a second, and then Atsumu’s throwing his head back in laughter, and the granite bubble pops in Kiyoomi’s chest.Kiyoomi smiles, too, and Atsumu looks at him like he’s hung the moon.I’m going to marry this man, he thinks.-Or: 5 Ways To Tell If The Person You're Dating is The One, by Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: you are the cause of my euphoria [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974688
Comments: 53
Kudos: 585





	5 Ways To Tell If The Person You're Dating Is The One

**Author's Note:**

> Sakusa Kiyoomi would like to think that he is a highly logical individual. This insistence to rationalise every aspect of his life extends to his decision to propose to his boyfriend, too.

Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s first (real) date goes something like this:

The place Atsumu chose is a cosy, hole-in-the-wall ramen establishment about ten minutes away from their gym. The scratches in the vertical wood panels are the only sign that the shop anything more than a year old- every other surface is squeaky clean, an impressive feat for any kind of food establishment. The waiter doesn’t attempt to make small talk, and their chopsticks are wrapped up in a napkin and given to them, so the end that’s supposed to be touching the food doesn’t touch the table.

Atsumu catches his gaze when he looks up from poring over the menu, and grins. “Knew you’d like this place,” he says.

Kiyoomi’s heart catches on one of his ribs as Atsumu looks back down at the menu, golden hair glinting in the soft yellow light. He tries to school his expression (thankfully half-concealed by his mask) into something a little less smitten, and promptly fails when the waiter comes to take their order and Atsumu rattles off Kiyoomi’s order before he can say anything.

“Ya only ever eat tonkotsu.” Atsumu puffs his chest up slightly. “A setter knows his spiker best!”

Kiyoomi wants to retaliate with something like _What if I wanted to try something new this time_ , or, _That doesn’t exactly make me feel very special, there are four hitters on our team_ , but the words get lodged in his throat, and the moment passes when Atsumu goes to take a sip of his water.

It’s ridiculous, really. They have been on the same team for a year, and have known each other since high school. Kiyoomi has never had a problem with communication, regardless of whatever his high school reputation was. He’s always been direct, and once you get him started on the advantages of using a pocket handkerchief over a paper towel, he can even be _chatty_.

So it doesn’t make sense that he finds himself tongue-tied in front of Atsumu, who he exchanges jabs and snide remarks with on a daily basis. It’s probably something to do with the glaring fact that this is a date. That Atsumu asked him out on. Using dating words.

“Nice lamps,” Atsumu says. The silence is getting painful. “Very yellow.”

Kiyoomi nods gravely, but his vocal chords refuse to cooperate. Atsumu takes another sip of water. He’s nearly finished with his glass.

Maybe he’s a little nervous. It is his first ever date, after all. But as with every other aspect of life, Kiyoomi finishes what he starts, and pays proper care and attention to every detail along the way. And if he spent an hour ironing out the creases in his shirt the night before, or Googled twenty questions to ask on a date- well, nobody needs to know that.

Maybe he’s a little nervous, but no one has ever accused Kiyoomi of being unprepared. He clears his throat.

Atsumu looks up from where he’s been studying the undoubtedly fascinating pattern of the tablecloth, his eyes sparkling like the human version of that one emoji Komori won’t stop sending him.

“My mom always told me to follow my dreams,” Kiyoomi blurts out.

Wait. How does the joke go again? Fuck Cosmopolitan and their Ten Amazing Pick-up Lines Guaranteed to Wow Your Date-

“So can I follow ya home?” Atsumu doesn’t even miss a beat.

They stare at each other for a second, and then Atsumu’s throwing his head back in laughter, and the granite bubble pops in Kiyoomi’s chest _. I can’t believe ya tried to use a pick-up line on me, Omi, who does that_ , Atsumu is saying between fresh peals of laughter.

Kiyoomi smiles, too, and Atsumu looks at him like he’s hung the moon. _I’m going to marry this man_ , he thinks.

-

“Thank you for the gift, Sakusa-san,” Akaashi says to him when he settles down on the barstool next to Kiyoomi’s. “Although I’m not too sure why we’d need a leash, unless Koutarou has gone and gotten a dog behind my back.”

Kiyoomi blinks at him, and then groans. “Atsumu, you bastard.”

Akaashi snorts a little, and somehow makes it look graceful. “If it helps, he did put both your names on wrapper.”

Kiyoomi takes a long swig of his Calpis. No alcohol for him tonight- two and a half years of dating Atsumu has taught him that he needs utmost sobriety and patience to drag the guy home later.

The man in question is currently mid-passionate rendition of We Are the Champions, cheeks bright red despite only being two shots in, Bokuto wailing into the other mic. Hinata and Kageyama are, for some reason, slow dancing next to the speaker of the home entertainment system, totally out of beat to the song. More people are scattered throughout the apartment- Inunaki part-timing as a bartender behind them, Nekoma’s former captain wheedling Osamu into letting him try to sauté a couple of baby potatoes in the kitchen, Meian and Ushijima having a beer on the balcony.

Bokuto and Akaashi’s engagement party isn’t exactly an intimate gathering, since they’ve apparently invited teammates and friends, both new and old, but there is an undeniably cozy feel to all of it. And it’s not packed to the brim, either, so Kiyoomi can do what he likes best at parties- stay out of all the action, and laugh at his friends.

In front of the TV, Atsumu and Bokuto launch into a highly energetic dance to some pop song Kiyoomi doesn’t know, and Suna pulls out his phone. Akaashi reaches for his drink on the counter, the silver band on his ring finger gleaming.

“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way,” Kiyoomi says. “I hope you’re ready for a lifetime of nonsense.”

Akaashi chuckles wryly. “I’ve had six years of practice. I figured, what's another sixty years?”

"Bold of you to think that living with Bokuto won't cut your lifespan by half," Kiyoomi says darkly. Akaashi laughs and raises his drink. "Takes one to know one, right? Atsumu-san has many things in common with Koutarou, after all."

Kiyoomi hums, and tries to find a way to segue into what he’s been meaning to ask Akaashi the whole evening. Before he can open his mouth to say something probably incredibly awkward and embarrassing, Akaashi beats him to it.

“You look like you have a question.” Akaashi gives him a knowing smile, and Kiyoomi has a brief flashback to seeing that smile across the net at nationals in high school, right after he pulled off a nasty dump out of nowhere right at the end of their second set. If people assumed Bokuto was solely responsible for Fukurodani’s success in the volleyball circuit then clearly, they hadn’t met Akaashi Keiji and his, like, ten billion brain cells. 

“Well,” Kiyoomi hedges. “How- how did you know Bokuto was the one for you?”

“It felt right,” Akaashi says immediately. Kiyoomi takes back everything he’s ever said about the guy’s intelligence. What the hell does he mean, _it felt right_? Kiyoomi thought Akaashi was better than that. “There was no reason not to, is what I’m saying.”

Akaashi catches Kiyoomi’s thoroughly unimpressed look, and gives a low laugh. Bokuto whirls around, and gives Akaashi a blinding smile. Atsumu turns, too, and makes eye contact with Kiyoomi, singing, _Yeah, you’re makin’ me a boy with love_.

Kiyoomi can’t stop the flush rising on his cheeks, and opts to hide it behind his Calpis instead. Someone calls for Akaashi to sing a duet with Bokuto, and Akaashi politely excuses himself. “Good luck with that,” Akaashi nods in Atsumu’s general direction.

_Well, that was thoroughly unhelpful_ , Kiyoomi thinks.

“In doubt, Google it” has always been Kiyoomi’s general motto in life. So later when he finally puts a snoring Atsumu down on the sofa- he may be dating the guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let him anywhere near their bed in dirty clothes- and finishes washing up, he settles under the cover and taps on the Chrome app.

“How to tell if your partner is the one for you.”

**1\. You both take care of each other’s needs**

“What is this,” Kiyoomi says flatly, giving Atsumu the most unimpressed look he can muster. “And here I thought we could go one month without the landlord threatening to forfeit our deposit.”

Atsumu jumps up from the floor, releasing his grip around Osamu’s neck. His expression is almost identical to a child’s whose hand has been caught in the cookie jar, which is an apt description mainly because of how the walls of their kitchen are currently streaked with cookie dough.

“We thought you’d only get back much later?” Atsumu ventures, one sticky hand reaching to touch the back of his neck sheepishly. His doe-like pleading eyes almost make Kiyoomi forget that there is a giant blob of cookie dough currently floating in the lovely vase someone had gotten them as a housewarming gift. Almost, but not quite.

“Try again,” Kiyoomi says. “Also, I expected better from you, Osamu-kun.”

Atsumu splutters. "You shouldn't have. Osamu was the one who started it." It is only then that Kiyoomi notices Suna camouflaged into the corner of the kitchen, phone clutched in his hand from where he’d clearly been recording the whole cookie dough wrestling match.

Osamu is thoroughly unapologetic, nonchalantly getting up and dusting himself off. “What can I say? ‘Tsumu brings out the worst in me.”

Kiyoomi lets out a long-suffering sigh, and massages his temples, careful not to make eye contact with Atsumu and his pout. He thanks whoever is up there that his mask covers his mouth, which is quirking upwards in spite of himself. “I am going to take a shower,” he announces.

Once upon a time, Kiyoomi would’ve had a complete meltdown at the sight of his kitchen in shambles. A little over two years of being with Atsumu and a year of living with him later, Kiyoomi had only needed two minutes to process it, and then he’s back to thinking about other things- what to cook for dinner, the almost empty bottle of Febreze in the cupboard, the leaky pipe he’s been meaning to tell their landlord about.

Kiyoomi supposes that’s a good thing.

When he emerges from the bathroom an hour later- sue him, the shower is his happy place- Atsumu is lounging on their bed in a fresh set of clothes, his golden hair damp from his own shower. Their room smells like fresh linen and soap. “Hey,” he says, and a bonfire burns warmly in Kiyoomi’s chest. “I chased ‘Samu and Sunarin out, an’ cleaned the kitchen.” He turns the full power of those puppy-dog eyes on Kiyoomi, cupping his cheeks in his hands. “Forgive me?”

Kiyoomi collapses bonelessly on top of Atsumu, and Atsumu promptly clings on to him, wrapping all four limbs around Kiyoomi’s body like a koala. Kiyoomi gives up on suppressing his smile, and lets himself be held. “Just so you know,” Kiyoomi says, keeping his tone as deadpan as possible, “that means we’re watching Animal Planet tonight.”

Atsumu groans, and dramatically rolls away, starfishing on the bed. "What is life if I don't get to watch Star Wars on May the 4th?" he laments.

“That’s what you get for ruining the cookies I was supposed to get for dessert,” Kiyoomi snarks. There’s no real bite, though. The edge that would have been in his voice had long since faded through the years.

“Fineeee,” Atsumu concedes with a groan, and jumps up from the bed. “I stole some onigiri from ‘Samu, so that’s today’s dinner.”

Kiyoomi stares at Atsumu’s proffered hand. “Umeboshi?”

“Whadddya think?” Atsumu has the audacity to _wink_ at him. “Give me some credit, babe.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but takes his hand anyway.

**2\. Fights are minimal, and when they occur, they are productive**

Kiyoomi thinks he fell for Atsumu properly after their first big fight.

He can’t remember what exactly they’d fought about, only that it’d devolved into Atsumu screaming some horrible things at him, and Kiyoomi slamming their bedroom door in his face.

Kiyoomi remembers hearing Atsumu’s footsteps fade away and the main door groaning shut moments later. There was only silence, he remembers, as he buried his face into their pillows. It smelled like Atsumu’s lemon-scented shampoo. Kiyoomi curled into it, and took a few shuddering breaths.

When Kiyoomi woke up, the moon was high in the sky, and their room was dark. The other side of the bed was still ice-cold.

His throat ached, and he forced himself to get up for a glass of water. When he opened the bedroom door, his gaze fell upon a figure curled up on the floor right in front of it, in Kiyoomi’s old Itachiyama jacket.

Atsumu was hugging his knees, his brows furrowed in his sleep. When Kiyoomi crouched down in front of him, Atsumu stirred, and Kiyoomi saw a bunch of hyacinths clutched to his chest.

Hyacinths. Purple hyacinths, to be precise. Before he could stop himself, Kiyoomi reached out to brush a lock of Atsumu’s hair from his forehead.

Atsumu’s eyes fluttered open, and saw Kiyoomi. “Omi,” he said, his voice cracking with exhaustion. “’M so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Kiyoomi felt his throat threatening to close up, and forced his cracked lips open. “Me too.”

“I got too carried away,” Atsumu said ruefully. “That’s why I need ya. Ya always calm me down, y’know.”

Kiyoomi gave a wet laugh, and swiped a thumb at Atsumu’s cheek. “I hate fighting so much. We always get all sappy.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.” Atsumu- prideful, arrogant on and off the court Atsumu- reached for Kiyoomi first, and when their lips met, Kiyoomi wasn’t sure whose tears were whose. Kiyoomi’s grip tightened on Atsumu’s shirt to press him closer, and their hearts pounded to the same beat.

The hyacinths lay at their feet, long forgotten.

**3\. They support you unconditionally**

“How can I help you, Sakusa-kun?”

If Kita Shinsuke is the least bit surprised at seeing Kiyoomi standing right in front of his farmhouse at eight in the morning on a seemingly random Tuesday, his expression betrays none of it. His eyes are serene as ever as he lets Kiyoomi into his house, which is sparkling clean. Kiyoomi thinks, briefly, that he too would have fallen head over heels for him if he’d met him in high school.

“I would like a chicken, please,” Kiyoomi says.

At that, Kita does blink at him. “Sakusa-kun, our livestock are not raised to be slaughtered here.”

“No,” Kiyoomi clarifies. “I wish to _borrow_ a chicken. For a week or so.”

Kita gives him a long, considering look. Kiyoomi wants to say something, but doesn’t particularly feel like explaining that he wants a chicken as part of his five-stage experiment to make sure his decision to marry his boyfriend is completely logical. He feels like an eternity or two passes before Kita finally nods, and gestures to the back door. “This way, please.”

The chicken coop stands in the corner of the backyard, and there are about a dozen hens pecking their way around. “Which would you like?” Kita has to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the clucking.

Kiyoomi gingerly edges his way to the low cross wire fence, and peers in. “That one,” he says, pointing at a hen pecking enthusiastically at the corn on the ground. Her brown feathers are exactly the same shade as Atsumu’s eyes.

Kita gets a wooden crate, lays some straw in it, and steps over the fence. The sea of chickens make way for him like he’s Moses parting the Red Sea, except the one oblivious hen. Kita throws a handful of corn into the crate and the hen waddles in happily. It doesn’t even make a sound when Kita slides the crate shut.

Kita helps Kiyoomi load the crate into the shotgun seat, and passes him a bag of feed. “Thanks again, Kita-san,” Kiyoomi says, fidgeting with his car keys. “And, uh, does she have a name?”

“Number 17,” Kita says in a deadpan voice, and Kiyoomi has to laugh. “Good luck with Atsumu, Sakusa-kun.”

Number 17 is relatively quiet the whole drive back from Hyogo to Osaka, only clucking a little when Kiyoomi sets down her crate in the corner of the living room. Atsumu is, predictably, still asleep.

Kiyoomi slides the crate open. Number 17 totters out, looking curiously at her surroundings, not the least bit scared.

“Shoo,” Kiyoomi says, flapping his arms in the general direction of the master bedroom, and Number 17 runs off.

He waits for about a minute before hearing an unholy screech. “OMI. OMI HELP. THERE IS A CHICKEN IN OUR HOUSE.”

Kiyoomi tries to keep his expression as nonchalant as possible as he saunters into the room. Atsumu is crouched in a corner of their bed, blankets clutched to his chest, a look of pure terror in his eyes. Number 17 clucks disapprovingly from where she has made herself comfortable on the opposite edge of the bed.

“My aunt is out of town and wants us to help take care of her pet chicken for the week,” Kiyoomi repeats the line he’s rehearsed the whole way home.

Atsumu narrows his eyes at Kiyoomi, who immediately folds his arms so Atsumu won’t see his sweaty palms. “What aunt?”

“My mom’s younger sister. You’ve never met her.”

Kiyoomi is spared from further probing when Number 17 suddenly clucks aggressively in Atsumu’s direction, and Atsumu promptly flies off the bed, sprinting out of the room. Kiyoomi sighs and meets her beady gaze. “I hope you’re worth all this,” he mutters.

They manage to coax Number 17 out of the bedroom and back in the crate with a trail of grains. They don’t have the heart to shut the crate door on her, but she stays in her crate until dinnertime, when she wanders inquisitively into the kitchen, following the smells wafting out of the chicken.

“We’re cooking grilled chicken, you cannibal,” Atsumu says. “Do you want to join your fallen comrades?”

“ _Atsumu_.”

“Kidding, kidding.” Atsumu shoos Number 17 out of the kitchen. “Curly-haired daddy is angry daddy,” he says to the chicken in a stage whisper.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know why, but that comment sends a surge of warmth right through his body. Consequently, a poorly concealed smile plays at the corners of his mouth for the rest of the evening, as Atsumu sits on the floor and attempts to make Number 17 play fetch, and puts on a documentary on birds and strokes Number 17’s feathers absently as his gaze follows the eagle swooping across the screen. The smile only grows bigger when he sees Atsumu silently cleaning up the droppings on the floor, and tucking Number 17 under a makeshift blanket when she falls asleep on the couch.

Later that night, when Kiyoomi and Atsumu are tucked into their own bed, Atsumu burrows into Kiyoomi’s side and murmurs, “Don’t think I don’t know that whole Aunt-going-on-vacation story is bullshit, by the way. Yer not getting away with it that easily.”

Kiyoomi turns to face Atsumu fully. “If you knew that, why did you still help me with the chicken?”

Atsumu gives him a wry smile. “Yer bullshit is my bullshit, Omi. I’m in for all,” he gestures to Kiyoomi’s entire person, “of this.” Before Kiyoomi can respond to that, Atsumu flops around to lie on his back, and closes his eyes. “Night, baby.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t sleep at all that night.

(“Can we please keep her for a few more days?”

“I told Kita-san I’ll have her back in a week, though.”

“You borrowed her from _Kita-san_?”)

**4\. They don’t hold you back**

It was only a matter of time, they both knew.

Hinata left first, after less than two years with the Jackals, on his personal quest to play in leagues all over the world. Then Meian retired after the birth of his third son, wanting to spend more time with his family. Tomas and Inunaki followed soon after, Tomas to be with his French girlfriend and Inunaki to become a coach for the Little Leagues.

“I got another transfer offer,” Kiyoomi says over dinner one night.

Atsumu snorts, and shovels another spoonful of rice into his mouth. “Who is it this time? EJP trying to persuade ya that the colour of their uniform would be “striking on yer skin” again?”

Kiyoomi pauses, and that two second delay is enough to make Atsumu look up from his plate. “It’s the team Wakatoshi-kun is playing for in Poland. Orzei Warszawa.”

“And yer seriously considering it,” Atsumu finishes. “That’s really great, Omi.”

Kiyoomi bows his head. Atsumu’s not wrong- Kiyoomi would be lying if he said that playing in an international league hadn’t been on his childhood bucket list. Sure, the V League had tons of incredibly skilled players who could give Kiyoomi a run for his money. But being on the Olympics had shown him a whole new world of possibilities, and being given an offer from a team where his old friend was playing at- it was incredibly tempting. And yet-

“Would you be ok with that?” Kiyoomi says quietly.

Atsumu puts down his chopsticks. “I,” he starts, and then stops. He tries for a smile, but it comes out at all the wrong angles. The light in his eyes have disappeared. “Ya should do what makes ya happy, Omi.”

“Nothing’s finalized,” Kiyoomi says, desperately searching for anything to make that _look_ disappear from Atsumu’s face.

“I know,” Atsumu says, standing up with his bowl, the other half of his oyakudon still untouched. “But I also know ya wanted this for a long time, so ya should go for it if yer really sure.” He swipes a few stray grains of rice from the table into the bowl, and lays a hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder on his way into the kitchen. “Think about it properly, mmkay?”

The silence weighs down on them heavily for the next few days. Atsumu doesn’t ignore him, but he is significantly quieter than usual, and spends most of his time in the study room, the door shut behind him. Their teammates more or less buy into his bright façade at practice, but at home he drifts around their house like a ghost. At night, he scoots to the other end of the bed, putting as much space as possible between them.

On the fourth day, Kiyoomi decides he can’t take it anymore. “Atsumu,” he says, pausing on the threshold of the study room. Atsumu turns to look at him, and Kiyoomi sees his red-rimmed eyes. “Are we breaking up?”

Atsumu shoots out of his chair. “Fuck no,” he exclaims. Then he subsides. “I mean, not unless ya want to.”

“I definitely don’t,” Kiyoomi says slowly. “But why have you been so…” He trails off. Distant? Cold? It isn’t fair to put those two labels on Atsumu, especially since Kiyoomi doesn’t know how he himself would react if their situations were reversed.

“Fine, look,” Atsumu beckons for him, and opens up a Microsoft Word document on his laptop. There is a big bold heading titled “POLAND RESEARCH”, detailed with the time difference between Warsaw and Tokyo, a weekly schedule for Orzei Warszawa that Atsumu has somehow obtained, with highlighted blocks labelled “POSSIBLE SKYPE TIMES”, and a list of restaurants serving Japanese food near the training gym. There's even a section on housing grants provided by Orzei Warszawa, and screenshots of alternative apartment buidings and their rent prices per month.

“I made this because- fuck, even if ya end up moving, I want ya to know it isn’t going to change anythin’ between us. Yer not getting rid of me that easily.” Atsumu’s voice cracks, and for once Kiyoomi can’t find it in himself to make fun of him. He swivels around to fix a glare on Kiyoomi. “So if yer worried about me, ya shouldn’t be.”

If Atsumu brings up this incident again, he flatly denies ever sobbing his eyes out. But a few days later, he does get back to the representative from Orzei Warszawa, telling him no thank you, he is perfectly happy to remain where he is. He has everything he needs here. Where in Poland can he find umeboshi anyway? Atsumu pretends he isn’t stupidly overjoyed, and ‘coincidentally’ takes him out for dinner when Kiyoomi announces that he’s officially turned down the offer.

("What do you mean, is this to celebrate ya staying in Japan? We're celebratin' my- my uncle's birthday. Fuck you, I did _not_ make that up!")

Kiyoomi laughs as Atsumu unbuttons his fancy suit jacket, bursting to the seams from the five course meal, slumping back in his chair, and thinks about the ad he saw on Instagram for custom engagement rings.

**5\. There are no secrets between you**

Personally, Kiyoomi disagrees with this one.

There are some things about him that Atsumu still doesn’t know. Kiyoomi used to play table tennis as a kid, he once threw his shoe at some boy who was bullying Motoya, his grandpa taught him to fish when he was eight- but he’ll find out eventually. If Kiyoomi doesn’t share about them himself, Motoya will probably take it upon himself to enlighten Atsumu the next time EJP comes to play in Osaka.

Then there are other things Atsumu absolutely cannot know about, ever. Like the one time he thought Atsumu broke his favourite bowl and made him go all the way to Tokyo to get an identical one only for Bokuto to call a few days later to admit that yes, he may have accidentally broken it the last time they had a team gathering at Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s apartment. Or how, contrary to popular belief, there are still undestroyed photos from the one ghastly summer where Kiyoomi straightened his curls. Or that Motoya once caught Kiyoomi doodling 'Miya Kiyoomi' in cursive in math class right after their first youth training camp.

Or that for the past few nights, when Kiyoomi is sure Atsumu is fast asleep, he takes a measuring tape from a drawer in their bedside table and attempts to measure the circumference of Atsumu’s ring finger. But Atsumu is an incredibly light sleeper, and Kiyoomi thinks the man must have a billion extra nerve endings in his hand, or something, because any time he even touches it, Atsumu’s hand flies back on some kind of animalistic instinct, and is shoved under his pillow. Honestly, at this rate, Kiyoomi thinks that even if he manages to check off the boxes on his list, he’s never going to actually propose to Atsumu. Or maybe he’ll do it with a Cheezel. He knows Atsumu loves that snack, even if it probably is 90% chemicals.

So, yes. Kiyoomi would rather eat a sock than have Atsumu ever find out about these things.

In spite of these things, there are no real secrets between them. Atsumu can’t lie to save his life, and Kiyoomi is devastatingly straightforward about everything. Well, most things. And, by virtue of living with each other, it’s not like there are many opportunities to hide things from each other, anyway. They share the same sock drawer, for goodness sake.

“OMI. I FORGOT TO TAKE MY UNDERWEAR,” Atsumu hollers from the bathroom.

“Run to the room and get it,” Kiyoomi grumbles from his blanket nest on the couch. “What are you even embarrassed about? It’s not like there’s anything of yours I haven’t seen.”

“It’s January, Omi! If I get frostbite and my tits fall off, it’ll be your fault!”

“We have central heating,” Kiyoomi mutters, but gets up anyway.

He pulls open Atsumu’s underwear drawer, and immediately starts rummaging for the one pair of Onigiri Miya briefs Osamu gave him as a joke last Christmas. He knows it’s in here somewhere, and he knows Atsumu is going to absolutely hate it.

He finally spots the onigiri-patterned briefs squashed right at the back of the drawer, still in their plastic wrapping, and grapples for it triumphantly. His fingers hit a velvety surface, and the next thing he knows, he’s pulling out a small box that looks awfully like a-

The bathroom door bangs open from down the hall, and Atsumu sprints into the room, stark naked. “ACTUALLY. I THINK I CAN TAKE THE UNDERWEAR MYS-” He cuts himself off when he sees Kiyoomi holding the Onigiri Miya briefs in one hand, and the ring box in the other.

“Really, Atsumu? The underwear drawer?” Kiyoomi’s heart is pounding, but he keeps the expression on his face neutral. 

Atsumu runs a hand through his wet golden hair and groans loudly. “Man, I was going to plan a whole thing! Why’d ya have to be such a spoilsport, Omi-omi? Plan number 63 had a whole marching band! Anyway, ‘m gonna get at least one part of this right.” He snatches the box from Kiyoomi, and gets down on one knee, still very much naked and dripping water onto the wooden flooring of their room.

Atsumu opens the box to reveal an elegant black and gold band. It glints in the light of the setting sun that paints the room, and Atsumu, pink and gold. It’s so much better than a Cheezel. “So, whaddya say?”

_You really suck at hiding things from me._ Or, _I can’t believe you beat me to it_. Or maybe, _How did you even get my ring size?_

Atsumu is still kneeling on the ground, waiting patiently. He gives Kiyoomi a soft smile, the shine in his eyes confident and loving and gentle all at once.

_Do you know I've been waiting for this since the day I met you?_

There are many things Kiyoomi could say, but for now he settles on just saying _yes_.

**Author's Note:**

> (purple hyacinths mean "I'm sorry/please forgive me". I was going to have atsumu show up with roses but then I realised that sakusa is probably not a roses kind of guy)
> 
> me: ah yes soft sakuatsu cuddly tooth-rotting fluff kiss kiss fall in love
> 
> also me: sAkUsA...... plus aTsUmU.......... plus CHICKEN.............
> 
> I've had this idea in the back of my mind forever (2 and a half months) but exams happened so what was supposed to be a Christmas fic became a New Year fic and then became whatever the hell this is. Thank you for all your sweet comments on the first two parts of this trilogy! I definitely plan to write more sakuatsu this year (may or may not have 2 WIPs sitting in my folders already) and also maybe some osaaka too. Also, I got a twitter account recently (after seeing one of my fic's tag on haikyuu ao3 tags), so hmu at @sugarstruggles to yell about haikyuu together. As always, comments make my day~ until the next time, stay safe and have a wonderful year ahead <3


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